


Therapy Animal and Cute Boy

by peachwentz



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Meeting, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Swearing, airport, he says fuck once, literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachwentz/pseuds/peachwentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>peter is that guy who just like always has his dog and patrick gets so excited about a dog in the airport and :-)))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy Animal and Cute Boy

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first "only fluff" and "first meeting" and it's probably terrible but you should read it anyways ;^)

Flying is stressful. This is common knowledge. Well, sort of. Not every member of the human race is so dysfunctional that they have a nurtured, irrational fear of planes, because, in reality, only one in some twenty million planes crash. Pete has mulled over these statistics hundreds of times in his head. _World’s safest airline. Weather flying forecasts._

His fear, however, had lessened after he added a dog to his life. A stocky, thick, jowly thing called Hemingway. It was kind of terrible, it sounded like the kind of thing girls do to prove they have culture. _‘Yes, this is my poodle, my French with some British ancestors who were actually bred in Russia poodle, and yeah, yeah her name is Capulet’_. Newsflash, we all read _Romeo & Juliet_ in 8th grade. Pete couldn’t help chuckle at himself for that.

Weaving through masses of people with suitcases rolling over your toes is not enjoyable. The Starbucks is overpriced. The staff calls you ‘sir’ in the most condescending way. Hemingway seemed very calm, as usual, while the leash shook in Pete’s hand. He felt like a child, so small and pathetic, he couldn’t even do an adult thing like travel without freaking out. He thought about calling his mom.

“Sir, I’mon need to see your paperwork for your dog, sir.”

Security is bad, but not as bad as the hassle you get for having a dog with you. _Cannis lupus familiaris_ may as well be code for _bomb_. The dark haired man rifled through his little travel envelope, something his mom had compiled. His passport, his legal documents, Hemingway’s papers. A note from his psychiatrist stating, “ _The patient in question is in need of an emotionally supportive animal and has clearance to take said approved animal with him in required instances_ ,” which is code for, “ _This man is crazy and takes his dog everywhere to avoid crying like a baby and looking even crazier_.” Pete handed the short haired airline personnel Hemingway’s clearance, the psych letter, and after a minute of looking over the documents, like he was some sort of illegal smuggler, the obviously Southern bell handed them back in a folded stack. He smiled at her only because he had to.

Pete never understood why you had to show up two or more hours early for a flight. He always ended up sitting and waiting around at the gate, with Hemingway getting antsy, with his overpriced Starbucks in hand. He looked up for a moment, and in a split second, his poor bulldog was yelping and twisting around the leash. A stranger stopped and gasped.

“Oh my god, oh I am so sorry. I think I stepped on his paw.”

Pete scowled, but his face softened when he saw the face of the apologetic little thing standing before him. A couple inches less than five and a half feet. Chubby, blond hair falling over into his face, cute glasses. Fedora, cardigan. He looked like someone you see sitting in the cafes on college campuses because they can ‘feel the intellect kissing them as they write’. A douchey aspiring novelist type, ‘put your diamonds in the sky if you feel the fucking vibe’.

He was cute though, like, really cute with the tight black denim hugging those so obviously soft thighs. Pete shook his head and knelt to pet Hemingway. “Oh, oh yeah, no, it’s okay, man. He’s alright.”

The mysterious squishy boy smiled. “How do you get them to let you take a dog on the plane? Can I pet him?”

Pete felt only slightly annoyed, but those blue eyes and soft cheeks were sinfully beckoning. “Ah…He’s my…Therapy dog. Got a note from my psych to let me have him. It helps,” Pete explained. “Yeah, you can pet him. He kinda drools, though.”

The blond boy laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose before scratching the dog’s ears. “Sick,” He said softly.

Pete smiled again.

“I’m Patrick.” The boy added.

Pete reached up to scratch the back of his neck before smiling awkwardly. “Pete,” He said back.

Patrick continued petting the dog. “What’s his name?”

Pete knelt down again and kissed his bulldog’s slobbery lips. “Hemingway.”

The squishy boy seemed to like that, because he cooed in a cute voice at Hemingway. Pete and the dog seemed to like cute coffee shop boys. Patrick rose to his feet, wearing worn out black Chucks like a teenage girl, and again, Hemingway yelped. Pete laughed before Patrick could apologize.

“Sit down before you break his leg.”

Patrick smiled sheepishly, a soft pink hue buffing its way across the soft skin of his cheeks. “S-Sorry…Hey, is this gate, uh, 22B?”

Pete looked up at the sign looming above him. “Yeah.”

“To Chicago?”

“Mhm.”

Patrick smiled again, and pushed his glasses up for about the hundredth time. So cute. Pete made mental note of that. “Can I…Can I buy you a drink on the flight? You know, to…To uh, making up for almost making your dog go lame.”

The blond boy avoided eye contact and fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke.

“As long as you include some cheese or something for my poor crazy man accomplice.” Pete joked with a sideways, toothy grin.

Patrick giggled. “Deal.”


End file.
